Mad Love
by Faithfulakuma
Summary: She and him had been lovers for some time. He knew some about her and she knew some about him. But the things he didn't know about her could a) fill a damn book and b) kill him. When he finds out just who and what she is, he has the choice of whether to stay or walk away. What will Constantine choose?
1. Chapter 1

It had been like this since the beginning of their relationship. Nothing serious, just sex. It was what the both of them needed and could handle in their lives. She'd come over after a rough day (or a rough exorcism for him) and they'd just let it all out, unwind, and then do it all again the next day. Today had been one of those days for both of them. They'd met up, had a few drinks, and came back to John's apartment.

It was late now, maybe eleven at night, and John was sitting upright in his bed, smoking a cigarette, staring off into space. No doubt thinking about the stress of the day that had brought him to this point. The bedding of the opposite side was pushed to the side, the spot empty, and he'll give a glance to the kitchen, where she was digging through his alcohol stash for something good. She was wrapped in one of the sheets, holding it around her with one hand, while the other pushed bottles aside as she scanned the labels. His gaze moved back to the wall, beginning to get lost in his thoughts again.

He only returned from them when the opposite side of the bed dipped and a glass filled with alcohol appeared in front of his face, held by a small pale hand. He pinched the cigarette between his lips and took the glass from her, giving a thankful nod in her direction, and watched as she curled up in the bed beside him, taking sips from the glass slowly, savoring the alcohol unlike she usually did. It was a good sign, he supposed, a sign that she was feeling less stressed and more at ease with herself. He was glad, honestly, he just wished he felt the same.

"Want me to stay the night?" She knew him all too well. She could tell that he wasn't relaxed. Sure, he felt _better_ , but it hadn't been enough. Something just wasn't right and she understood that without even having to ask him. He hated it sometimes; how she could read him so easily and knew so much about him without him having to tell her. He also knew, however, that it made their relationship easier, because she knew what he dealt with. Angels, demons, half-breeds…she knew what his life was and knew just what to do to get him to relax.

"Sure." It's the only response she's going to get as he downs the alcohol in the glass, sets the empty glass on the nightstand, and continues smoking, settling deeper into the mattress. He hears her sigh next to him and he turns his head, watching as she grabbed the cigarette from him and brought it to her own lips, taking a puff off of it before giving it back to him.

"You hungry? I could order some pizza or something." She quirks her dark black brows at him, head tilting to the side in due questioning, her gaze locked with his. He sighed, deeper than she had before, and took the cigarette from his lips, putting it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. He'll adjust himself until he's at her level, a hand moving to rest on the side of her neck, fingertips burying into her soft jet black hair. A grin comes to her lips as he leans down and presses his lips firmly to hers, his body coming down on hers to press her into the mattress. She, playfully, fights against him, a laugh escaping her as she removed her lips from his and buried her face into his shoulder. "John, I'm seriously hungry and gonna order a pizza. You want some?"

He's almost insulted that she would rather eat pizza than be with him in bed, but he knows it's been a while since she ate. She didn't know that he knew that she tended to starve herself, eating only when she was absolutely hungry and hadn't eaten in days, sticking instead to a liquid diet. He didn't like it, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He was always offering her food and she knew his fridge was always open to her, especially when she was staying the night with him.

"Sure. Make it cheese or meat, though. Not that nasty Hawaiian shit." He'll flop onto his back, reaching for his pack of cigarettes as she got out of the bed and dug into her coat for her phone. She'll quickly dial the number and he listens as she orders a pizza, meat, tempted to make a sex joke. He doesn't. She hangs up and jumps back into the bed, disturbing his peace, making him grumble.

"It'll be here in twenty!" She says excitedly, laying her head in his lap, fingers burying into his short dark hair as she grinned up at him. He blew the smoke from his cigarette down at her, but she remained steadfast in her gaze, staring at him through the smoky veil. God damn, he might just be falling in love with her.

* * *

He didn't know what had happened. Something had attacked him. He didn't know what. An angry half-breed? God, he didn't even know. Speaking of God, he was so sure this was the end. It had thrown him against the wall of the alley and dug its claws into his abdomen. Blood stained his pure white four-hundred dollar shirt, his eyes closed and he remembered thinking:

 _Shit._ _ **This**_ _is the end? I've faced the Devil himself, cancer, and this is the end?_

The next time he opened his eyes, he was back in his apartment above _Bowl Bowl Bowl_. He blinked several times, confused, recalling the events of the night before. The half-breed, the blood on his shirt...hands find his abdomen and he groaned aloud. Bloody bandages were wrapped tightly around him, enough that he could barely suck a breath in and when he did, it hurt to do so. He went to sit up, but found himself being pushed back down by his shoulders. Through blurry vision, he saw a pair of dark brown eyes, quite familiar, and he groaned again.

"What…happened?" He managed to get that much out before a wave of pain silenced him, nearly making him double over, had it not been for the pair of hands pinning him down with an inhuman amount of strength. His vision blurred even more, his head felt light and his body felt heavy, all at the same time. He was brought back to reality when he felt the pressure around his middle releasing, and he glanced down, seeing pale hands unwrapping the bandages, lifting him up every now and then as needed. He beheld the bloody mess the half-breed had made of him, fingers shaking, and his head fell back to rest on his pillow.

"Fuck."

"You'll be fine." Some shuffling around and the person, who he still can't see clearly, returns with a needle and thread. They sit beside him, fingers squeezing wounds together as they take the needle and thread and begin sewing him back together. He handles the pain as best as he can in his condition, but when his vision finally clears and he can see his savior clearly, he's taken aback.

"You…saved me…" He groaned out, feeling the needle go through his skin and thread follow as she pulled the needle.

"Well, you weren't doing all that good of a job of saving yourself and, well, I couldn't just _let_ you die. I'd feel guilty." Her hand came up to gently comb through his dark black locks as he stared up at her. Her eyes were that soft brown, gentle as ever as they peered down at his bloody condition. Her dark black hair was pulled up into a messy bun, stray hairs falling around her small pale neck, framing her face and contrasting its pale color sharply. She'd grabbed a chair from his kitchen and set it beside his bed to sew him up and to watch over him. Her coat was strung over the back and as Constantine looked to it, he noticed some blood on it. She noticed his gaze and gave a sharp tug to the thread as she tied it, closing one of the many wounds on his abdomen, forcing his attention back to it.

"Don't worry," She threaded the needle again, preparing to sew another wound, "It's not yours…or mine. I killed it."

"…Killed it?" He echoed, confusion evident in his tone. He was pretty sure what had attacked him had been a half-breed and as far as he knew, they couldn't be "killed". Only sent back to where they had come.

"We need to talk, John."


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you but we weren't exactly _exclusive_."

He almost wanted to ask if she'd been sleeping with other people, but she did have a point, so he bit his tongue. Hard. He tended not to trust people and this was exactly why. Well not _exactly_. It wasn't every day that his lovers turned out to be the niece of Satan, but it definitely contributed to his trust issues when it did happen. He tried to be disgusted, to hate her for what she was, and a part of him did, but he couldn't hate her entirely.

Most of the time, he met half-breeds that were just _evil_ , hurt people and seemed to know nothing of the human side they possessed and now here she was. A half-breed who knew only a little about the side of her that was supposed to be "evil" and so much about her human side. He couldn't bring himself to hate her, not with how _human_ she was.

"So, what? You're the niece of Satan. What does that have to do with what happened last night?" He moves to sit up in the bed, reaching for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. He'd only been awake a little while and he already wanted to go back to being unconscious. A nice punch to the face would do.

"I guess you could say I have the ability to _kill_ other half-breeds. I don't know. That's the way I've come to describe it." She waves her hands around, a clear sign of frustration and confusion. She stands from where she'd been sitting in the chair beside his bed, and crosses the room, beginning to pace at the end of his bed. "And it attacked you and nearly fuckin' killed you, so yeah, I killed it."

Was that the sound of…concern? God, John didn't even know anymore. He felt an odd sense of betrayal: almost like he didn't know her anymore, but surely nothing had changed about her. Surely, she had to be the same person. His logical mind was dominant then, arguing this with his emotional one, which wanted to tell her to leave and never come back.

"What _else_ have you been lying about?" He couldn't help the question. It just slipped out before he could even stop it. He watched her stop pacing and a look come over her face almost like he'd literally hit her in the face with the question. Slowly, she ruffled her dark hair and sighed, turning away from him.

"Glad you think about it that way, but nothing." She'll come towards him, only for her coat, which she reaches into and pulls out her own pack of cigarettes and lighter, pinching one between her lips, and lighting it. There's silence for a moment as the two respectively smoke their own cigarette and then she sighs, pulling her cigarette from her pale pink lips. He glanced up at her and a small smile came to see his lips, seeing the smoke rise in front of her face. It reminded him of when they first met…

 _|||| A YEAR AGO |||_

It was raining in Los Angeles, seemed a little more common these days than one might think. California wasn't always rays of sunshine, especially at night, and _especially_ lately. It was depressing for her line of work, mostly because she spent most of the night getting wet and not getting paid. It was truly annoying. She'd given up on working tonight for this reason and was taking shelter beneath an overhang, clothes sopping wet and sticking to her pale skin. She'll glance up and down the road briefly before reaching into her pocket and removing her pack of cigarettes. She removed one before placing it between her lips, giving a sigh as she realized she didn't have a light.

"Need a light?"

She'll pause almost immediately and look up, soft brown eyes aglow as she drank in the sight of her savior at that moment. He had short dark hair with pieces of it sticking to his forehead from the rain, and his eyes were just as dark, if not darker. Looking into his eyes, she could feel something about him: those eyes belonged to people who had been through some shit and she could definitely identify with that. He had a bit of a long nose, but it certainly didn't offput his looks at all. Angular cheekbones lead to pensive pink lips with a cigarette pinched between them, the end of it burning steadily unlike her own. He was dressed in a suit, but didn't seem like a businessman at all (most businessmen weren't really smokers, she knew this). She watched as he gathered his dark coat about him and offered up a metallic flip-top lighter, flicking it in the process. She quickly leaned in and brought the tip of the cancer stick over the open flame, breathing in at the same time. The end lit quickly and he pulled away, pocketing the lighter as he too stepped underneath the overhang for shelter.

"Thanks." She mumbled, grabbing the cigarette and releasing the smoke into the wet air. He gave a nod in her direction in acknowledgement.

His eyes fell upon her in the corner of his eye, watching as she smoked the cigarette in peace, taking a drag every few minutes and breathing it out. Her face was white as a sheet and he couldn't help but wonder if she was one of those cartoon ghosts with a complexion like that (he'd never met someone so pale!). Brown eyes remained on the burning end of her cigarette, watching as it slowly grew shorter and shorter with every moment and every drag. A small nose led to full, plump lips covered in bright red lipstick; her face was curtained by wet, jet black hair that stuck to her cheeks, neck, and shoulders. She was dressed in a corset-style black shirt with it tying around her neck, a black tartan short-skirt, and long legs were covered in black fishnets and knee-high buckle boots.

 _She was certainly not like any person, or woman for that matter, he'd ever met_.

"Yeah, no problem." He quickly decided to quit ogling her, feeling rude all of a sudden. Of all the things he'd done in his lifetime and he felt _rude_ for checking a girl out. _God help him_.

"So...what are you doing out here in the rain, hm?" The question is posed to him as leans her back against the wall across from him beneath the safety and shelter of the overhang, eyes now lit with something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Mischievousness? Curiosity? He decided he'd try to find out in speaking to her. After all, it couldn't hurt.

"Just wandering, really." The answer is simple and doesn't reveal anything: just like he always was. He always kept people out. Not that he liked to, of course, but it wasn't about him. It was about _their safety_. "What about you? What's a pretty girl like you doing out in the rain, getting cancer?"

She looked quite young, maybe eighteen... _or at least just too young to be smoking_. Regardless, he wasn't one to tell people what to do, especially strangers. They could fuck up their own lives however they chose. He only stepped in when it became a _balance_ problem.

She laughs and it's rather...beautiful? He can tell she's one of those people that doesn't laugh often and it gives him a victorious feeling to know that he had made her laugh. He watched as she composed herself, black eyebrows raised and she set herself back against the wall again, staring over at him through a veil of cigarette smoke.

"You think I'm pretty?"

He'll scoff and look away from her, noticing how he was almost to the end of his cigarette.

 _Damn these things went fast_.

"No. Don't think you should be smoking." He states rather flatly, not even bothering to look at her as he said so.

"Well, _alright_ , **Dad**." The sarcasm is evident in her voice and he resists the urge to laugh, finding it refreshing to have someone fire back at him.

"Oh, I'm not your dad. Just a good Samaritan looking out for you."

"Says the one who lit my cigarette."

He doesn't say anything, unable to argue.

"I'm Amelia, by the way, handsome stranger."

Another scoff.

"Constantine. John Constantine."

 _||| PRESENT |||_

"This doesn't change anything. I'm not, like, I don't fucking know, _in league with him_. I don't even…I've never met him. I just know my dad." She sighs again and walks over, sitting beside him. "And most of the archangels are trying to kill me so that's cool."

His face wrinkles in confusion, but she offers an answer before he can question it.

"I'm a Nephilim, John, my very existence is against the _law_." She used her best sheriff voice. "Hence, they try to erase it."


	3. Chapter 3

"I was born this way, John, it's not even my fault that it happened. I didn't even know 'til I was eighteen." She didn't want to have to tell her life-story, but it seemed it was the only way to explain what had happened to her and how she had gotten to be this way. She'll stand and go for the liquor cabinet, removing a bottle of something that looked like it had a strong alcoholic content and grabbing two glasses. She sat across from John, set the two glasses on the nightstand, poured two glasses and began with a heavy breath.

"My mum cheated on my da' while he was out fighting the war. She had no idea that the man she slept with was a fallen angel or that she had conceived a child. My dad came back and they got back together so when she did find out she was pregnant, she just assumed it was his. My parent's marriage was toxic…rocky…and my birth was like adding gasoline to an already burning fire."

John listened intently and he could practically tell there was a shit-storm coming, just from the start of the story. He also could understand the whole rough childhood. His father had been an alcoholic and a pervert of indescribable proportions [1] and John had lost his innocence when he was quite young, though it had nothing to do with sex [2]. He picked up the glass of alcohol she had poured for him and took a sip, keeping his eyes on her as she took her own glass and set it in her lap, fingers holding the glass tightly as she continued.

"Um…my sister was born when I was four…she died about a year or so after I left home. Her death was like…" She made a gun with her hand, and 'fired' it. "A trigger for my abilities, I guess. Meeting my _real_ dad only made them become more prominent and naturally, require more control. I started to hurt people because of my lack of control so I've been practicing control with my dad."

"What exactly can you do?" He decided it'd be best not to ask questions about her story. It would only cause her more pain. Besides, he preferred it that way himself. He also wanted to know more about her abilities, both to know what she was capable of in case he ever needed to stop her _and_ because of a sick curiosity.

"Lots of things." She replied and she moved her gaze to the bottle on the nightstand. He turned his head as well and watched as it steadily slid across the wood to him. He grabbed it and poured himself more before setting it back down. He then watched as it slid right back. "See?"

"Telekinesis…hm…" He made an impressed face before taking a sip of his glass, again keeping his eyes on her. He knew of some of the abilities of half-breeds, but not all of them: she could be of some use to him. Being aware of what half-breeds could and could not do would make him a more capable exorcist and demonologist and might help keep him out of Hell.

"I'm also capable of controlling the weather, pyrokinesis, and the basic superhuman strength, healing and all that good shit." She'll shrug and take a swig of her drink finally, swallowing slowly. "My blood also has an ability to heal others when ingested, which is why you're healing so quickly."

Wait…what?

"You fed me your blood?" _She'd turned him into some kind of vampire?!_ This was just getting worse and worse.

"It was the only way to keep you alive, so yes." She shifted nervously, refusing to look him in the eye.

"Great. So now I'm some kind of fuckin' vampire!" He proclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, frustration evident.

"No. It has no adverse effects, really. You'll heal and be fine. No weird blood cravings. It only becomes a problem if you have too much. Then you can get addicted." She states flatly, ruffling her hair again. It was a nervous tic of hers, just like biting her lip or pulling on her bottom lip.

"Okay, for future reference, don't give me things without my knowledge. I feel like a college girl whose been given GHB."

"Except this isn't a date-rape, John, Jesus Christ. I saved your life! Would you have rather I stopped to ask you? 'Oh hey, half-dead man I'm sleeping with, you cool with me bleeding in your mouth to save your life'? Why is it I feel like the answer would've been yes?"

He didn't know what to say. She was right, and they both knew it. At this point, if he died, he didn't know where he was going, Heaven or Hell, and it terrified him to the point that he refused to die or put himself in situations where he could. John Constantine wasn't sticking his neck out anymore, because he was afraid of losing it. He was afraid of where he might end up.

"Get out."

"Fine. Don't have to tell me twice."

He watched her gather her things and leave, doing so with such frustration that he hadn't seen in her before. It didn't look good on her. She pushed her dark hair from her face and paused in front of him, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest.

"You know **what** , John, this is bullshit! I've always been there for you, ever since we met but just because I didn't tell you about this, you're not gonna be there for me? What a joke."

Then she'll turn and leave him to himself, slamming the door behind her, shaking the apartment to its very foundations. _God damn_. She wasn't joking about superhuman strength. He sighed and looked to the glass of alcohol she had left, quickly downing his own before grabbing her unfinished one and downing it as well.

"Fuck."

Then he quickly got dressed and grabbed his coat, rushing out of the apartment after her.

* * *

 **NOTES** :

[1]: In the comics, John's father was an alcoholic and was also imprisoned for stealing a female neighbor's underwear.

[2]: Also in the comics, John's first act of magic was to hide all of his childhood innocence and vulnerability in a box to rid himself of it.


End file.
